


763R4VIII

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>will eventually contain graphic depictions of violence, graphic sex, and other unpleasantries.</p>
    </blockquote>





	763R4VIII

**Author's Note:**

> will eventually contain graphic depictions of violence, graphic sex, and other unpleasantries.

763R4VIII was running for his life.

The cool rain left the hot tarmac steaming as he turned down narrow side streets, narrower alleys. He climbed up buildings, ran over roofs and tripped, fell, scraped his arms and legs and face. The crowds hadn't stopped in the rain. People carried their umbrellas and went about their business in the dark daylight of New Seoul, heedless to anything going on around them.

763R4VIII knew where he was running to.

He was lucky in that regard. Before he burned the file, before he burned his hands with that acid to remove his identical fingerprints he learned where his First could be found. He was the only Second. His skin was clammy, his loose white shirt sticking to his skin as he slammed himself up into a dumbwaiter meant for carrying objects to upper floor apartments and held his breath.

Nothing. He heard no sound. His black pants were soaked through, his silver hair hanging in his eyes and the dumbwaiter filled with carbon dioxide before he pushed it back down again, falling out onto the ground, on his knees. People walked by. People walked by and saw nothing, not the blood on his feet or the bubbling on his hands, and certainly not the silver shine in his eyes. They couldn't see it. Wouldn't see it, in the hazy yellow light, splintered apart by drops of rain.

He righted himself. Squinted to see through the rain and found a street name, recalled the map of the city he'd memorized. Six miles. Six miles and he would meet the First. Six miles and he would beg for mercy and he would either be allowed to live, or be murdered.

The tarmac turned as cold as the rain and the streets grew emptier the longer he walked. Now people stared as he trudged, arms hugged across his chest, looking down. He could feel their eyes as he staggered, growing exhausted. He grew tired.

A part of him started to laugh because if he didn't laugh he might cry. He was tired. He felt... Tired. Felt exhaustion to his bones. The pain in his feet was becoming unbearable, but he walked. He had to. He had to, because there was nowhere else to go, and the First--

There it was.

The home of his First. The lights inside were on, and the gauzy curtains didn't hide the two men moving about inside. One of them was dark-skinned, red-haired and smiling like the sun. The other...

The other was identical to 763R4VIII. He had dark hair and brown eyes. He was the First.

763R4VIII licked his lips and stood on the sidewalk, staring in through the window. He stood just outside the circle of light from the streetlamp, the rain coming down harder, pelting his shoulders. His hair was completely soaked, his clothes heavy with water. He hesitated. If he knocked on the door, if the First came to the door, everything would change. He might die. His First might call the Authorities and have him dragged away. The likelihood that his First would keep him safe or allow him to stay were... Slim to none at best.

He did not move.

The streetlamp turned off and he watched the two men move to hold hands, turn off the television and the lights. When he couldn't see them anymore he felt helplessness clogging up his throat. He couldn't. He could not go to that door, could not knock, could not reveal himself. His First didn't know he existed. It would be cruel to bring him such news when...

He couldn't feel the difference between the cold rain and his own tears. He started down the sidewalk, his entire body aching, desperate for rest. He would find a place to hide. He would find a place to tuck himself small and be hidden. And the next time it rained, he would flee the city and it's dark daylight, it's endless awake.

He wouldn't put himself – or his First – at risk. His life wasn't worth it. Not when his First had been holding the hand of a beautiful man who looked at his First the way 763R4VIII might have looked at someone, someday, had he not been what he was.

No.

763R4VIII walked away. He walked until he collapsed, half submerged in a glorified irrigation ditch, swollen with the rain, the water running muddy tan and fast. He dragged himself under a small bridge and closed his eyes. Perhaps he wouldn't wake. That would be a mercy. To never wake again, having tasted freedom in cold rain and hot tarmac, metal-heavy fog and the scent of industrial rot close to the ground. Still it was freedom.

He rested his burning hands and feet in the water and closed his eyes. He would sleep. He would finally experience sleep. Perhaps he would even dream.

He hoped he could dream.

~

He did not dream.

He woke cold and shivering, the water gone down, the heat of the dark day replaced with the chill of night. He pushed himself up from the ground and let the water run over his hands. Nearly healed, now. Skeletal, all bones and thin skin. But they would grow. He splashed his face, his muddy hair, and stood on unstable legs. He had to keep walking.

He had to keep _going._

He'd walked along the roadside for miles before a car pulled over. A man got out, squinted into the light of the headlights, which was blinding 763R4VIII.

“Wonsik? Wonsik is that you?”

763R4VIII took off.

He ran, ran faster than he had the night before, fleeing. No, no he could not be mistaken for his First, he could not be brought before him, he could not put him in danger--

When the car peeled to follow, 763R4VIII took off into the rusted ruins of what must have once been a factory. His eyes adjusted as best they could and he ran until the ground stopped--

He fell, he fell into what had once been a river and was now a sea of scrap parts, rubber and plastic. He screamed in agony as something pierced up through his back, scrabbling to get up, struggling to keep moving.

He was losing blood.

He'd never...

“Wonsik!” Came that panicked voice, and 763R4VIII felt himself start to dip into unconsciousness even as he pulled himself off of the piece of sharp metal that he'd been impaled on. “Wonsik, oh my god, hold on, hold on I'll be right there--”

763R4VIII's head dropped down, and there was nothing.

There was not even the sound of a heartbeat.

~

By the time Hongbin made it down into the scrap, he was sure Wonsik was dead. Mind clouded with panic, he waded through the relatively shallow mess to the body broken over the top of what looked like an old washing machine, his flashlight shaking.

“Wonsik?”

Wonsik didn't have silver hair. His skin was not so white. But Hongbin waded to him anyway, putting the flashlight in his belt, grabbing at the broader man, gasping at the blood spurting out over his own clothes. “Shit,” he hissed. “ _Shit._ ”

He did his best to keep the wound pressed against himself so it wouldn't keep bleeding. He got Wonsik up the riverbank to his car and ripped off his own shirt to press to the wound, using a piece of nylon rope to wrap it around Wonsik's body.

Where the _fuck_ was Hakyeon?

Hongbin grabbed for his phone and dialed, watched Wonsik breathe, watched his hands-- his hands looked so strange-- twitching against the dark, hot hood of his car.

“Hongbin, what's up?” Hakyeon asked, his voice smooth.

“I,” Hongbin started. If Wonsik was gone Hakyeon would be panicking. “Where's Wonsik?”

“Wonsik? He's right here. He doesn't have work tonight. Why?”

Hongbin felt himself getting dizzy. What the _fuck._

“Then who the fuck is this?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Wonsik's on my car.”

“...He's right here,” Hakyeon said, sounding concerned. “Are you drunk.”

“He's _right here,_ ” Hongbin said, nearly hysterical.

“Where are you,” Hakyeon asked, the sound of rustling clothes and moving keys in the background. “I'll come and get you.”

“Bring Wonsik.”

Hongbin hung up the phone. Hakyeon could use the GPS to find him. Hongbin was... Going to concentrate on making sure the... Wonsik on the hood of his car didn't bleed out.

~

“He seems to think you're on the hook of his car,” Hakyeon said, blinking down at his phone. “I'm pretty sure he's just super drunk, but we should probably go get him, anyway.” He looked over at Wonsik, smiling in a resigned kind of way. “Don't want him getting killed or arrested now, do we.”

“Again,” Wonsik sighed, getting up from the couch. “Lemme put some jeans on.”

By the time the two of them were out in the car it was half an hour later, and Hakyeon plugged his phone in to be able to listen to the GPS tell him where to go to find Hongbin.

He was in the middle of nowhere. Almost literally.

“What the hell,” Wonsik mumbled as they found Hongbin's car, running, pulled over on the side of the road that led out to the next section of city, beyond the barren metal waste in between.

“Come on,” Hakyeon said, putting the car in park and unbuckling. “We can leave his car here if he's too messed up, come and get it later.”

“Yeah,” Wonsik nodded, climbing out and walking towards Hongbin's vehicle.

There was no one in the front seats, either of them. Hongbin was sitting in the back seat, his back to the door, cradling a body-- was that _blood--_

“Hongbin,” Hakyeon yelped in alarm, opening the door that allowed him to face his younger friend. For a split second he stared but then he shrieked, falling back to the ground, scrabbling back. “What the _fuck, what the_ _ **fuck.**_ **”**

“What,” Wonsik asked, alarmed as he pulled the door open all the way and looked in.

Hongbin was crowded against the other door, supporting a body against himself. He was sweating and the entire car smelled like blood and the man laying against him looked like Wonsik. Exactly like Wonsik.

“What,” he asked again, and Hongbin jerked his head up, staring at his best friend and then back down at the body in his arms.

“I don't,” he started, shaking violently. “I don't. He's dying. I can't. Can't stop the bleeding. I can't make it stop bleeding, Wonsik.”

“Holy shit,” Wonsik wanted to spend the next hundred years being shocked and disgusted and fucking confused, but he climbed into the back seat and grabbed the-- the man's face in one hand. “Hey,” he said. “Hey! Wake up. Stay awake, come on, you've got to stay awake.”

“awake...” he rasped, eyes unfocused.

“Yeah, you gotta stay awake, man, come on. Come on, tell me your name.” He was pressing his hand down on the wound, knew Hongbin must have been doing the same to the wound on the man's back. “What's your name.”

“Se... Seven.”

“Seven? What else,” Wonsik asked, scooting the body out towards the open door, Hongbin following suit. “Finish your name.”

“Seven si... Six three... Are... Four vee... Eye, eye, eye.”

“What's your last name,” Wonsik asked, pulling the man out of the backseat, wincing at the sound of his agonized shout. “Tell me your last name, man.”

“Second,” he groaned, and Wonsik laid him out on the back of the car, ripping open his shirt to assess the damage. “Second!” he cried out again, jerking his head from side to side as though the movement had been a punishment for not responding soon enough.

“Hakyeon, get me the kit in the back of the car, now,” Wonsik hissed, watching Hongbin stagger against the trunk, looking extremely disoriented. “Hongbin, you okay?”

“I thought he was you,” he said, palms on the metal, eyes staring down. “I thought he was you, and he is you, but he's not you, Wonsik, he's not you at all.”

“Well I'm right here,” Wonsik said. “Open that kit, get the med gel.”

Hongbin rummaged for the gel as Hakyeon staggered backward, still not at all comprehending what was happening. Wonsik was grateful, not for the first time, for his experience as an EMT. He'd seen some shit. Doppelgangers were hardly the weirdest thing.

When Hongbin got the gel free, Wonsik took the tube and squeezed it out over the hole in the man's chest-- waited until it turned clear before turning him over and doing the same to the gaping wound on his back. With the bleeding stopped, Wonsik turned the man onto his back and looked down at him, staring hard. It was like looking into a mirror. He was paler, his hair silver and his eyes not the same dark brown, but his face was identical in shape, their noses the same, eye shape and small mouths and ears.

Second.

Wonsik had heard of clones, but-- he'd always assumed they were some kind of conspiracy theory, something crazy people made up in order to get attention or whatever but there was the proof, staring him in the face. Or... Laying unconscious in front of him, as it were. Hongbin was still shaking, and Hakyeon was staring in horror.

“...Come on,” Wonsik said, trusting his instincts to know what to do because he was working on autopilot. “Come on, we need to get somewhere warm and dry. Lets take him home--”

“Take him _home?!_ ” Hakyeon's squawk was loud and abrasive. “What the _fuck,_ Wonsik, we can't-- he's a fucking _clone,_ we can't bring him home, whoever fucking made him is going to come there first--”

“I wasn't asking, Hakyeon,” Wonsik said, voice hard in attempt to guide Hakyeon back to normalcy from his mounting hysteria. “Get in the fucking car. Hongbin, follow us back will you,”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking numb. “Yeah, I will.”

Hakyeon slid into the front seat, cowed into silence as Wonsik laid... Laid his Second down on the backseat, smoothed back his hair and felt revulsion and compassion in equal amounts. He couldn't think too hard about it-- he had to get them somewhere dry, warm and safe. He wanted to make sure his Second lived to tell him what the fuck was happening.

The drive home was silent and tense. Wonsik kept checking the rear view, wondering if the police were going to catch them, but nothing unusual happened. Nothing strange. He pulled into the garage and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Go inside,” he told his lover. “Close all the curtains and lock everything up, okay? I'm gonna get him in the bath, get him cleaned up.”

“All right,” Hakyeon whispered, and Wonsik paused, leaned over the console to kiss him softly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm. “Hey, it's gonna be okay, baby. It's gonna be okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Hakyeon whispered against his mouth. “I'll. I'll meet you inside.”

Wonsik watched his lover go and felt guilty for being so hard with him. He climbed out of the car and carefully lifted his-- his clone, surprised by how light he felt, how small. Then again, he was small compared to Wonsik, who had always enjoyed working out. This... This man probably hadn't been afforded the same opportunities.

The downstairs bathroom had a large tub, and Wonsik managed to get it turned on with his clone leaning into him, half-conscious. “no,” he was saying, shaking his head. “no, no can't be here, can't.”

“Shh,” Wonsik assured, treating him like a child because he didn't know what else to do. “Shh. You have to get cleaned up, dried off, and get some rest, all right? You have to let me take care of you.”

“No,” the clone almost sobbed, and Wonsik's chest constricted with the knowledge that this was a person, in front of him. This was a person with emotions, who felt pain like he did, who had memories of his own. The realization ached.

“It's all right,” he promised, getting his clone undressed. “It's all right now.

You're all right.”

~

763R4VIII woke in muffled silence, in a warm bed. For a moment he laid very still and just listened. He could hear voices, but could not make out what they were saying. He sat up, squirmed out from under the too-soft covers and moved to the door, listening, ear pressed to the crack between wood and frame.

“--don't care who made him, I'm not sending him back.”

“I know, I _know,_ but Wonsik, Wonsik please don't be irrational, what are we going to _do,_ what are we going to _tell people_ \--”

“He could stay with me,” came another voice, one 763R4VIII recognized from the night before. The man who had been chasing him. _Wonsik, oh my god, hold on, hold on I'll be right there--_

“Hongbin--”

“Why not? Wonsik and I have been friends for years, what's... What's the big deal? We call him Wonsik's twin, it's just as easy to say I've been friends with him, instead.”

“What's his name?”

For a moment there was silence, and 763R4VIII crept back into the bed, brought the covers up around his face despite how unpleasantly soft they were, slipping like liquid over his hairless limbs. The muffled speaking continued and he squeezed his eyes closed.

Then the door opened.

It was Hongbin who stood there, with Wonsik. His First. 763R4VIII looked over at them and said nothing at all. He knew they could see the silver shine in his eyes, they could see his unnatural pallor.

“So...” Hongbin started, trying for casual. “You scared the piss out of me, running off into the river like that.”

“I apologize,” he said, and Hongbin shook his head, moving closer. He showed no sign of anxiety aside from the awkwardness of his speech. “I didn't mean to upset anyone.”

“You didn't,” Hongbin said. “Well, I mean you did, but it's fine now. You're fine. The med gel worked so you're-- you're feeling better, right?”

763R4VIII nodded, reaching to press one hand to his belly. His body was not rejecting the medicine.

“Good. So, listen, you can't-- you can't stay here, since, you know, but you're gonna come and stay with me, all right?”

“That's not necessary,” he said in protest.

“It is,” Wonsik replied. “I don't... Know where you're from. I'm pretty freaked out right now. But I know it must have been pretty fucking awful for you to leave and end up with all those wounds you had. So... You're going to stay with Hongbin. He's got a spare room. You'll be safe there.”

“I--”

“What's your name,” Hongbin interrupted.

“Seven six three are four vee eye, eye, eye,” 763R4VIII replied.

“Are four vee eye? Wait, that's, hold on,” Hongbin waved his hand around, brow furrowed in thought. “In coding the 4 can be replaced with an A. So... Ravi? Kim Ravi?”

763R4VIII looked at Hongbin as though he was the light of God himself and Hongbin squirmed. “What,” he asked, looking at the floor.

“Apologies,” he said, breathless. Kim Ravi. Ravi, he had a name, he had a _name._ “I'm-- I'm just--” he rushed to wipe at his eyes, a stupid smile on his face. Wonsik echoed the expression as though he knew exactly what Ravi was feeling.

“Come on. Lets get you some clothes. Get you fed, and Hongbin can take you home.”

Home.

_Home._

For the first time in his life, Kim Ravi was going home.

 


End file.
